


To Thine Own Self Be True

by measleyweasley



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Geraskier, M/M, himboism is a virtue, with a tweest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:33:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/measleyweasley/pseuds/measleyweasley
Summary: There is a lesson to be learned from this.Whatever that lesson is, though, Geralt is certain he hasn’t learned it considering he’s now stuck in a stuffy overcrowded tavern in Vizima with a tipsy barmaid half in his lap as Jaskier sings about Geralt’s most powerful “weapon.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 67
Kudos: 1077
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY, favorites





	To Thine Own Self Be True

Geralt has never claimed to be wise in the ways of love. That is all Jaskier’s doing. 

“Every great hero needs a romantic ballad!”

“I don’t want you writing raunchy songs about me.”

Jaskier crossed his arms and gave him a look that one would give a child throwing a tantrum. “Now Geralt, we’ve talked about this: respect doesn’t make history. Come on, it’ll humanize you!”

Geralt glared. “I’m not human.”

Jaskier had smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “You just leave it to me and the fair maidens of this land will be flocking to you.”

“I don’t _want_ them to flock.” That was definitely not a whine but Jaskier hadn’t paid him any attention anyway, already walking off to compose his new tune. 

***

There is a lesson to be learned from this. 

Whatever that lesson is, though, Geralt is certain he hasn’t learned it considering he’s now stuck in a stuffy overcrowded tavern in Vizima with a tipsy barmaid half in his lap as Jaskier sings about Geralt’s most powerful “weapon.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to take me upstairs?” She flutters her eyelashes at him in what she surely believes is a becoming manner, but Geralt is of the opinion that it makes her look half-crazed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not sorry at all, “I can’t.”

The girl pouts at him. “Why not?” 

There’s really no particular reason why, he just knows he’s not in the mood. Still, he promised Jaskier he would work on his manners as part of his image, so he sucks it up and smiles politely. “I’m tired.”

She smiles coyly. “I know a few ways to wake you up.”

Geralt tries again, rolling his shoulders for verisimilitude.

“I’m sore from today’s hunt.”

“I’ll massage you.”

As Geralt tries to think of an excuse that’ll get her to leave him alone and stop demonstrating her masseuse techniques on his bicep, he catches Jaskier’s eye from across the room. Jaskier winks at him and Geralt reflexively gives a small smile in return.

“Oh,” the girl says, drawing Geralt’s attention back to her as she drops her hand and climbs off the bench, “I see now.”

Geralt’s relief is warring with confusion at the girl’s sudden change in tack. “You do?” he asks warily, not wanting to send the wrong signal and accidentally reel her back in. 

She rolls her eyes. “You should’ve just said you were taken.”

Geralt is trying to parse that statement when he catches Jaskier’s eye again. Oh. 

He’s never claimed to be an honest man, but he is desperate one, so he turns back to her and inclines his head. “My apologies.”

“Well you know what they say. No harm, no foul,” the girl says good-naturedly. “Maybe next time, eh?” She offers Geralt a half-smile and a congenial pat on the arm before walking back towards the bar.

Well, Geralt thinks, settling in to watch Jaskier sing his song about the fishmonger’s daughter (Geralt’s personal favorite, not that he’d ever tell Jaskier he had one), a little unorthodox, but certainly effective. At least there won’t be a next time. 

***

The next time it happens it’s only out of sheer desperation that Geralt opens his fool mouth and says, 

“Actually, the bard and I are,” he closes his eyes briefly and smiles tightly, “together.”

“Oh.” The woman ( _call me Brunhilde_ , she’d insisted, setting her tankard down and making herself comfortable at Geralt’s elbow) crinkles her brow, looking between them dubiously. “Really?”

Geralt thanks nonexistent Destiny for Jaskier’s particular brand of strangeness. “Do you think he follows me around just to write songs about me?”

Brunhilde lets out a giggle of embarrassment. She’s cute when she’s not throwing herself at Geralt. “No, I guess that would be pretty silly. But I take it there’s some truth to them then?” She blushes a dark red that has Geralt already dreading it when she says, “Like the one about the maiden who bestow’s true love’s kiss upon your-“

Geralt takes it back. She’s not cute at all. She is an evil demon hell-bent on embarrassing Geralt to death. 

“Yes,” he says in a rush to keep her from finishing her sentence. He forces himself to smile even as he fights the urge to throw his tankard at Jaskier’s head. “Personal experience.”

She giggles some more before patting his head and wobbling off to find friendlier company. 

Well, Geralt thinks, that was mortifying. No way is he doing that again. 

***

He does it again. 

Because sometimes lying is a lot simpler than telling the truth. It’s a lot less hassle to pretend to be Jaskier’s bedwarmer than to deal with the million and one come-ons and offers of kitchen girls for the night. And it’s not really lying when you think about it, mostly suggestions and insinuations with people drawing the wrong conclusions. It keeps women off his back, allowing Geralt to focus on his work. On the rare occasion that the woman in question is just as partial to lithe musicians as to muscle-bound abominations, it keeps the women away from Jaskier and consequently keeps Jaskier away from trouble. 

Sadly, because Geralt has decided it would save him a future of merciless teasing and inevitably having to murder Jaskier in a violent rage if he ever found out, Jaskier’s mission to be the best wingman ever through his musical stylings continues.

“Say, what rhymes with ‘luscious mounds?’”

“I will hurt you.”

“Ah, 'pounds!' That’ll work wonders. Thank you, Geralt.”

Still, it’s a small burden to bear if it means being left unmolested during their tavern stays. And honestly, being Geralt’s pretend bedmate is the least Jaskier owes him for writing those damn songs in the first place.

It’s fine, Geralt assures himself. It’s all fine. 

***

Or at least, it’s fine until it isn’t. 

It’s been pouring down sheets of rain nonstop for the past hour. It’d gotten so bad, the roads turned to a muddy slush, that Geralt had even let Jaskier ride with him on Roach. Barely able to see the road and with no hope of setting up camp anywhere dry, they’d been forced to stop at the nearest inn, its sign illegible in the downpour. 

Practically swimming through the rain, Geralt hands Roach off to a soaked stablehand and they stumble into the inn. 

“Go warm up by the fire. I’ll get us a room.” Jaskier shoots him a grateful look and goes to do just that as Geralt squelches up to the innkeeper, a short and kind-looking man of forty. 

“Ah! You must be the White Wolf I’ve heard so much about. Though you much resemble a drowned kitten at the moment! Haha!” He slaps Geralt on the back with more force than he small frame would suggest. “Two rooms for you and your companion coming right up. And you know-,” he says conspiratorially, “I’ve heard the songs. I have a few girls that would be honored to keep a hero such as yourself company for the night.” 

He gestures to the open room behind him. Geralt takes in the women dressed in silks and reclining on couches with their bodice laces trailing open. It’s as he watches one of the women shove her hand down a man’s breeches that he realizes they have not stumbled into an inn after all. 

It appears they will be spending the night in a brothel. 

Geralt doesn’t think he’s as bothered as he should be by how easily the lie slips out.

“I appreciate your hospitality, but the bard and I are more than traveling companions if you get my meaning.” Which isn’t even a lie. _We’re friends,_ Geralt thinks, filling him with not a small amount of warmth.

The innkeeper’s eyes widen in understanding. “Ay, of course, then I’ll make sure to have my girls prepare for you our finest room! Anything else we can do for a great hero such as yourself?” He raises his brows. “Perhaps I could send you a girl to share?”

Geralt, disturbed and turned on by that proposition for reasons he won’t examine too closely, or at all, decides to cut off that line of thought immediately. 

“Actually, If you could keep your girls away it would be much appreciated.” Geralt nods over to where Jaskier has made himself more than comfortable with a lady of the house as he lowers his voice and stares at the innkeeper intimidatingly. “I don’t like to share.”

Maybe that was overdoing it a bit, but the innkeeper winks, apparently nonplussed by Geralt’s theatrics. “Say no more. Marie!” He claps his hands. “Come here a moment!”

Geralt stifles a laugh as the girl currently trying to divest Jaskier of more than just his doublet gets up, leaving him to flounder like a landed fish on the velvet couch. 

*

It’s not until they’re in the room that Geralt feels caught-out. He hadn’t known how to turn down the single room in favor of two separate rooms without sounding suspicious, but he’s starting to regret not acquiescing to the offer of separate rooms, even with the girls that came attached as he takes in their lodgings for the night. 

“You pick out this room just for us?” Jaskier asks, clearly making a herculean effort to bite back a laugh as he takes in the fuchsia wall coverings and tacky gilt lamps covered in little cupids. To his credit, even Geralt has to agree the heart-shaped bed is a bit much.

Unfortunately, Geralt did technically pick out the room even if it was only the lesser of two evils, the realization of which causes him to sober up. “Special treatment,” he manages to choke out past the stale taste of guilt rising in his throat. 

Jaskier scoffs. “If they really wanted to treat us they’d send some of those lovely ladies up to keep us company.”

“Busy night?” Geralt suggests, getting a good grip on his metaphorical shovel and digging his hole even deeper. 

“Makes sense, I suppose,” Jaskier shrugs as he lays their soaked clothes in front of the fire, oblivious to Geralt’s inner turmoil. “Must get a lot of business with girls that pretty. Would explain why we couldn’t get any of our own.” He pauses. “Though perhaps they’re not the most skilled. Don’t you think it’s been weirdly quiet? Shouldn’t we be hearing couples in the throes of lovemaking right about now?” 

Geralt just hums noncommittally as he takes off his boots. Jaskier’s quiet in the way where Geralt can tell, purely from having spent so much time with him, that Jaskier must be thinking hard about something. Another minute passes and sure enough-

“Say, Geralt,” Jaskier starts, and it’s in that moment that Geralt realizes with a horrible feeling of dread how ridiculous this whole ruse has been. If Jaskier asks, what is he supposed to say? _Yes, Jaskier, I_ have _been pretending we’re lovers in the nighttime because I don’t want to fuck random women though you for some ungodly reason really want me to, why do you ask?_

Before he can work himself up any further, Jaskier just asks, 

“I think I forgot my comb. Can I borrow yours?”

Geralt lets out a silent sigh of relief and digs it out of his bag. As they lay in bed that night, the mattress gently sloshing beneath them as Jaskier snuffles quietly beside him, Geralt promises himself that this is the end of all this foolishness. 

***

Geralt means to stick to his resolution, he really does, but some nights, like tonight, he is left with little choice but to don his jester’s cap once more.

The kitchen maid has been hounding him for the better half of the night. Geralt has been patient because it’s her father that’s hired him to get rid a kikimora for a hefty sum, but the third time her hand wanders a little too far under the table he breaks out his tried and true excuse. Not that it matters much.

“I don’t believe you.”

Geralt balks. “Excuse me?”

The girl fixes him with a flat stare. “I’ve heard the songs. I don’t believe you’re bedding that fool of a minstrel,” she says, jerking her head over to where Jaskier is surrounded by a group of tavern patrons and who, for reasons beyond Geralt’s comprehension, is attempting to play his lute while hopping on one foot. “Prove it or I’ll tell my father to tear up your contract.”

“You wouldn’t.”

She runs an unwelcome finger down the side of his face. “Try me.”

And fuck, now is not the time for petty affairs of the heart. Geralt is running low on supplies and this town has the only apothecary this side of the kingdom. They need to restock and he’s not even sure if Jaskier’s earned enough coin for them to cover the room tonight. Geralt is trying to think of any response to that threat that doesn’t contain the words “go” and “fuck” and “yourself” when the answer falls into his lap.

“Geralt! How are you, my dearest wolfiest Witcher?”

Jaskier has clearly been in his cups if his pink face and complete disregard for Geralt’s personal space are any indication as he settles himself against his chest. Geralt, fully aware they have an audience and not one to look a gift Roach in the mouth, wraps his arms around Jaskier’s waist under the guise of steadying him. Jaskier complies by looping his arms around his neck.

“You alright?” Feeling the need to really sell it, he strokes a warm comforting hand down Jaskier’s back. Jaskier seems to enjoy that, bless his drunken heart, as he tucks his face into Geralt’s neck and _nuzzles._

“Geralt,” he murmurs, thankfully loud enough for the girl to hear if the jealous look on her face is any indication, “you should take me to bed.” 

Geralt sighs. “Come on,” he says, and lifts Jaskier princess-style. 

Jaskier rubs his face against Geralt’s neck and tightens his hold as they make their way to the stairs. “She looked ready to eat you alive, like some sort of,” Jaskier waves his hand, smacking Geralt in the face. “kikimora in an apron.”

Geralt snorts at the image.

“A cute kikimora, though,” Jaskier says, which for whatever reason causes Geralt’s chest to tighten minutely. “Might’ve been a nice way to go. Should’ve left you to her fangs.”

“Not a very heroic end,” Geralt counters as he jiggles the key in the lock and pushes the door open, Jaskier still clutched in his arms.

Jaskier snorts. “I d’nno, could’ve written a nice little jig, something about a hungry beast being pierced by love’s hot-”

Geralt promptly dumps him on the bed. 

By the time he’s gotten Jaskier settled, helping him out of his doublet and boots and smoothing his hair away from his face, he’s forgotten all about the pushy kitchen maid. 

He assumes they’ve dropped the subject, but as he goes to leave, Jaskier calls him back. “You still could, y’know. With the girl. You’re allowed to indulge.”

Geralt pauses. “Not in the mood,” he eventually says. 

And if the muttered, “you never are” from Jaskier as he softly shuts the door sounds a little bitter, well, he wouldn’t know how to respond to that anyway. 

***

It’s not until the inn in Temeria that Geralt realizes he has possibly lost his hold on the situation.

It’s an unexpectedly quiet night. Jaskier had excused himself to bed early complaining of a headache, leaving Geralt all alone in the lower tavern section of the inn. Well, all alone except for the pretty brunette who’s been flashing her eyes and cleavage at Geralt for the past half hour. 

In her defense, both pairs are very nice. Geralt idly thinks about taking her upstairs. He could do it. Jaskier’s asleep, they have separate rooms this time, and the brunette seems more than willing. As he looks at her, Geralt thinks of running his hands through her dark hair, her blue eyes closing in pleasure, callused hands tugging him close as he slides a hand between her thighs to feel her hardness. 

Wait.

Geralt watches her finally approach with what is a surely terrified expression on his face. 

“You must be-“

“Taken,” Geralt blurts and all but sprints out of the tavern.

*

Outside in the stable, Geralt takes a moment to cool down and re-evaluate. 

He finds Roach and starts combing her mane for want of keeping his hands occupied as he spirals. 

“Maybe Jaskier’s right,” he tells her. “It could be that I’m not…indulging, and now I’m making…connections…where I shouldn’t be.”

Geralt works on a particularly stubborn knot. “This stupid lie has twisted my mind. I just need to untangle it. It’s only a matter of a guilty conscience going wild.” 

Roach paws the ground in a way that says she’s not entirely convinced of Geralt’s reasoning. 

“I’m sure. Once I stop this charade everything will go back to normal.”

Roach just looks at him.

You’re very judgmental for someone who sleeps in a barn.”

***

Contrary to what he told Roach, which in turn only makes him feel guiltier, Geralt keeps up the ruse. It’s just that things are going relatively well for him and he doesn’t want to screw things up. The weather’s been good for the season, they’ve both been getting steady work, and nobody’s taken Jaskier for ransom in ages. Geralt can’t bring himself to ruin the relative peace that’s befallen them lately by telling Jaskier about the stupid lie or, even worse, getting entangled with some random woman and allowing Destiny a prime chance to fuck him over royally.

But because nothing good in Geralt’s life can ever last, Jaskier finds out.

***

It’s not even a grand reveal. They’re at a banquet for one of Jaskier’s gigs and Geralt has been trapped by an overly friendly duchess who will not take no for an answer. Sometimes he doesn’t know why he even bothers trying to be polite about these things. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. He knows it would hurt Jaskier if he caused a scene (again) and the guilty part of him feels he owes it to Jaskier to make an effort. 

That being said, Geralt only has so much patience. 

He’s not sure what makes him break. Maybe it’s the headache he’s getting from the heavy wine. It might be that the doublet Jaskier squeezed him into is too stiff to be comfortable. It could be that this particular duchess has just asked in no uncertain terms about his cock size. It’s anyone’s guess really. 

“Just a little peak,” she says coyly, as she tries to not-so-coyly get her hand down Geralt’s front. “That annoying little bardling makes out like your cock hung the moon. I just want to know if it’s as good as he says.”

And if Geralt weren’t a man who prided himself on his restraint and self-control, he might admit that it’s her insulting description of Jaskier that causes him to grab her wrist and snap,

“Unless you’re the annoying little bardling who’s sucking it, you don’t need to know.” 

She gapes at him, dumbstruck. He shoves her away with a maybe unhealthy sense of self-satisfaction only to turn to see Jaskier staring at him, goblet held limp in his hand. Geralt feels a weird sense of solidarity with it as it sadly spills its contents onto the floor. 

***

Jaskier stares at him. Geralt can’t blame him. At least they’re not doing this in the middle of the hall, Jaskier having managed to keep his mouth blessedly shut until they made it back to their rooms to have it out. 

“First question: how long have you been telling people that you’re _bedding_ me?”

Geralt, who’s been sitting completely motionless on the edge of the bed for the past five minutes in the hopes that Jaskier might not see him if he stays still, forces himself to look up at him with what he’s sure is the world’s guiltiest expression. “Since Vizima.”

“Since Vi-okay, second question: what on the gods’ green earth would possess you to do that?” Jaskier demands, gesturing wildly.

And okay, Geralt doesn’t feel that judgmental tone is totally deserved.

“Why? Maybe because you’ve been singing those ridiculous songs about my ‘prowess’,” Geralt fires back, not even feeling embarrassed about making air quotes, “and now every woman from here to Rinde has been trying to get me to tumble them! I’m not some fuck machine you can sing about to make a quick coin!”

Jaskier has the grace to look abashed at that. “I thought you would like the attention. I would have stopped if you really-wait.” And oh no, he’s got that careful considering look on his face that lets Geralt know he’s slipped up. Jaskier can’t get his words out fast enough as he points at him accusingly. “Whydidyouputprowessinairquotes?” He squints at him when Geralt avoids his eyes. “You-you are experienced, aren’t you?”

“I have experience,” Geralt says defensively.

“Oh, fuck.” Jaskier’s eyes widen. “Are you a virgin?”

“No!” And Jaskier does seem slightly mollified by his tone, so he continues, more subdued, “I just think there should be a meaningful bond between individuals before they couple.”

Jaskier laughs. “This is even worse than I imagined. You’re not a virgin. You’re a _romantic.”_

“Shut up,” Geralt says, flinching at Jaskier’s derisive tone as if it were a physical slap. “It's not my fault I take no interest in fucking anything that moves.”

“Oh stop being so superior,” Jaskier says, apparently seeing right through Geralt’s bullshit attempt at deflection, “you’re just embarrassed I caught you out.”

“I'm not.”

“Are too.”

“ _Jaskier._ ” 

“Why not tell them you have a girlfriend?”

Geralt…has no good answer for that. 

They sit in silence until Geralt can’t take it anymore. “If I have offended you-”

“Offended me? Do you think that's what this is about? Oh. Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier says as he shakes his head patronizingly. “You are a very handsome but very stupid man. If you thought with your cock maybe you’d be a little smarter.”

“Hey!”

“I bet you’ve been beating yourself bloody from all the guilt, haven’t you?”

Geralt is silent. 

Eventually, he makes himself speak. “You’re not upset I lied about our…” he trails off.

“Sordid love affair? Passionate tryst?”

“Stop it.”

“Our midnight liaisons? The love that dare not speak its name?”

Geralt just glares. 

And now Jaskier looks genuinely put-upon as he throws his hands up. “Why would I be upset about that, you silly goose? Have you seen yourself? You’re built like a brick shithouse and hung like a horse.” He holds a hand to his chest. “Trust me, I am more than honored to be your imaginary paramour.”

And that is something Geralt just can’t make sense of. “But I’ve been telling people-they think you-“

“Geralt,” Jaskier cuts him off gently, moving to sit down next to him. “Do you really want to know why I’m not upset that you lied?” He waits for Geralt to face him before continuing in a slow, calm voice as if afraid he’ll spook Geralt. “The reason you lied to all those women about bedding me is because you actually want to bed me.”

Geralt stares at Jaskier.

And stares.

And stares some more. 

Jaskier waits patiently as Geralt gathers his thoughts. It takes a while, as they seem content to roam the hillside, enjoying the bright sunny day and ignoring Geralt’s calls to come back to pasture. Finally, _finally_ , after what feels like an eternity, Geralt manages to find his voice. 

“What.”

“Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are!” Jaskier laughs as if delighted by the news. “I guess I underestimated my own irresistibility. This is why it’s important for us to work on our self-confidence, Geralt.” 

“But…“ Geralt tries weakly, unable to think of a follow-up. 

“But?” Jaskier prompts.

Geralt has no rebuttal. It’s with a dawning sense of horror that he realizes Jaskier is _right._

“Fuck.”

“Hm, I hope so,” Jaskier says, leaning in close to slide a hand up Geralt’s thigh. Geralt feels himself heat up, though that might in part be due to the embarrassment at his own obliviousness. 

“I’m an idiot.”

“Not a problem. I can be smart for the both of us.” He nips lightly at Geralt’s ear. 

"I've been _saving myself_ ," Geralt groans. “For _you_.”

Jaskier laughs, bright and happy, moving his hands up to start working Geralt out of his clothes. 

Geralt tries desperately to retain his grip on reality as Jaskier kisses a path across his jaw. “The songs?”

Jaskier huffs against him. “I wrote those because those are the things I want to do to you, you dunce.”

Geralt stares down at his bent head. “You’re obscene.”

“I do try,” Jaskier sighs as he goes back to leaving a love bite on Geralt’s neck.

Geralt is reeling.

“It’s not just the bedding,” he gets out awkwardly, not entirely sure where the words are coming from but discovering as he says them how true they are. 

“Oh, of course not,” Jaskier agrees amicably, moving his mouth off his neck but not bothering to stop unlacing Geralt’s shirt as he talks. “I fully expect you to court me. I’m talking flowers, romantic rides through the countryside on Roach, getting kidnapped together, all that good stuff.” 

“Oh,” Geralt says, equal parts thrown and warmed by the thought that Jaskier is already looking toward the future.

“Are we all clear?”

Geralt thinks about it. Everything is still surreal, but he’s pretty sure it’s in a good way. “Hm.”

“Amazing. I’m going to kiss you now.”

Jaskier swings himself up into Geralt’s lap, leaning down to kiss him softly and Geralt stops thinking entirely. It’s probably for the best. He smiles against Jaskier’s mouth as he wraps his arms around his waist.

Yeah. Definitely for the best.


End file.
